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Debra Smith Poem
When good things happen to bad people.
I wanna hit them the head.
When good things happen to bad people.
I'd rather be them instead.
I'd rather be them when things get sad.
Cuz I am good and they are bad.
I'd rather be them if I could.
Cuz I'd rather be bad and have it be good.
Copyright © Debra Smith | Year Posted 2005
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Debra Smith Poem
Baby blue sets in. A little baby boy. Soldiers in the cradle make
little soldier noise. A single drop sets in. A monkey on her back
is patiently awaiting for a quick monkey attack.
Now I can't help but think that there's something to it all.
Though there's a pudred smelling fungus in the corner down the hall.
Where sweaty men play with a brown leather ball.
Now I can't help but think that there's something to it all.
Something in the sunshine. Something in the wind.
Something in it's whisper to make me feel alive again.
Something in its madness, like slushy winter snow.
Where drunken men find lonliness,and laughing children go.
And I can't help but stumble, and I can't help but fall.
And I can't help but think that there's something to it all.
And I can't help but get up, and i can't help but fall.
And I can't help but think that there's something to it all.
Baby blue sets in. A little baby girl. Solders in the cradle
form little soldier curls. A single drop sets in a monkey on
her back. Is patiently awaiting for a quick monkey attack.
Now I can't help but think that there's something to it all.
And I can't help but stumble, and I can't help but fall.
And I can't help but get up, and I can't help but fall.
And I can't help but think that there's something to it.
Copyright © Debra Smith | Year Posted 2005
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Debra Smith Poem
There was this funny kitten.
You see he had six toes.
I named that kitten Purrbox
and I took the Purrbox home.
And they say his toes are magic.
can bring you silver and gold.
But he's already cost me 90 bucks.
And he's only 12 weeks old.
Copyright © Debra Smith | Year Posted 2005
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Debra Smith Poem
So for the trees that sway.
For the whisper of the wind,
in the ears of leaves that watch the light fade.
And cast shadows of thank you's for all that the
day has given.
And rest calmly in the night next to the streams edge.
With peebles that glissen under the moonlight of pink and grey.
And you can almost taste them cold and smooth.
Tumbling in your mouth like poet's words.
So for what bliss it all is?
The kool of the night. The warmth of the day.
The dance of light and love.
Copyright © Debra Smith | Year Posted 2005
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